Second Chances
by shiiki
Summary: Why is it that every time Nico goes searching for family, he ends up in the Underworld? At least this time, he might have a chance to find his sister … only it isn't the sister he expects.


**A/N:** I have my supervisory panel meeting today ... best way to not stress over it? Write! Haha. This was a (not-so-)little story that grew from a prompt I got in last year's giftfic set ( **Hello** you might recognise it, sort of?) I had to scrap it because I was having trouble working round to the _actual_ prompt (our dear king of angst was being, well, too angsty) but the idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I've been coming back to it in bits and pieces over the last couple of months.

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 **Second Chances**

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Fall smelt like the Underworld.

It was probably because of all the dying vegetation. Demeter throwing her tantrum over her daughter leaving and all that—though you'd think that after four thousand years, she'd have gotten used to her time-share arrangement with Hades, especially when by all accounts, the queen of the Underworld was perfectly happy with it. Nico had never seen his stepmother in the upper world, but Persephone certainly seemed to be in her element whenever he ran into her in his father's kingdom, ordering zombies around and tending her luscious pomegranate gardens.

Anyway, lying in his gloomy new cabin at camp, Nico caught the scent of the cool air wafting in through the crack of his winded and sensed the change.

Not just a shift in the seasons. Fall also smelt to him like trouble. Like upheaval. Like the frosty approach of wintry heartbreak.

Fall was when they'd moved to America, back in the early forties … which had ended with his mother's death.

Fall was when Alecto had packed him and Bianca off to Westover Hall … which had end in his sister's death.

This year, this fall, things were supposed to be different. He'd led his dad to Manhattan to save the day, and for a few blissful weeks, he'd been a hero. He'd been welcome at every table in the dining pavilion. Both Hermes and Ares had invited him to sleep over (not that he really fancied hanging out in crowded cabin eleven or land-mine-infested cabin five). Annabeth had presented him with plans for his very own cabin—a real place at camp, just for him.

Percy had clapped him on the back and told him how proud he was.

But then Percy and Annabeth had gotten together and gone off to school, leaving him with a bunch of year-rounders and new kids he barely knew. The Ares kids, who had thought his zombie army was the height of cool, stopped inviting him round when they realised he wasn't going to raise the dead on a regular basis and build the ultimate capture the flag team. (Aside from the fact that it would be cheating, he'd end up in an extended coma if he kept summoning skeletal warriors night after night.)

Nico was alone again, rattling around in his big, empty cabin. And quite honestly, the idea the obsidian walls and green torches over a skull had seemed cool at the beginning, but Nico was starting to regret agreeing to it. He liked the skull, but nobody else appreciated Underworld décor. Some of the new half-bloods crossed themselves whenever they passed his door, a pious gesture that would always make Nico's stomach churn. His torches took on a sickly glow at night-time—which was lengthening steadily each day now. Even he was starting to find them creepy.

Why hadn't Annabeth designed him something less …

Less like _him._

It wasn't the cabin. It wasn't camp. It wasn't (he hated how his heart fluttered against his will) Percy … _or Annabeth,_ he made himself add to the thought.

Nico was the one who would never fit.

He got up and stepped out onto the central green. It was still, the only movement coming from Hestia's ever-burning hearth. She wasn't there at the moment. Nico hadn't seen her since Olympus.

He went to the hearth anyway. The merry flames warmed his hands, though there wasn't much point. They always felt cold as ice to anyone who touched him. Yet another thing that made everyone else pull away.

If only Bianca were here. Nico imagined sharing cabin thirteen with her, poking fun at the ghoulish wall hangings (serious, _how_ had he thought it was cool?) and playing pranks on the skittish new kids.

She would have understood about Percy. She'd understood everything. He would even have been glad to have her tease him mercilessly about his crush.

This was stupid. Even if she'd been alive, she'd have gone off with her Hunters, having her own adventures.

But maybe she'd have visited. He might have seen her from time to time, the way he ran into Thalia on occasion.

Nico imagined a pit in the fire, half-eaten Happy Meals and coke, the rise of wispy spirits from the earth … The idea was so tempting, he wished he hadn't promised to leave Bianca to Elysium. But he had to. Only the miserable, unfulfilled spirits still hung around earth. He wouldn't condemn Bianca to that. She deserved a full life or a full afterlife, not a fragmented in-between.

Maybe because he was thinking about the dead, Nico could hear a whisper rising, like a breezing drifting across the still air. _Son of Hades,_ the voices murmured, _you belong with us._

He rubbed the skull ring on his finger. Maybe they had a point. No one at camp understood his powers. Since the day Minos had told him who he was, he'd learnt everything he needed to from the dead. That fiasco with Minos had been a close call, but he'd learnt since then to sort the malicious spirits from the benign.

These ones didn't mean any harm. They simply stated what they saw.

 _A long journey lies ahead,_ the dead warned. _The children of the Underworld have far to go._

What else was new? Nico was starting to believe he'd never find peace.

The sun inched higher, casting shadows from the cabins on the east. Kids were stirring in some of them; Nico could make out one guy peeking out of the window of the Apollo cabin. Great. They'd see him talking to dead people at Hestia's hearth and more rumours would fly.

The shadows beckoned to him. Without thinking about it, he stepped into them and felt the now-familiar rush of darkness whistle past his ears.

He rarely shadow-travelled without a destination. After the time he'd gotten stuck in Beijing for a week trying to recuperate from an unplanned jump, he hadn't dared repeat the experience. When he emerged next to a long wall of ancient stones, he feared he might have ended up in China again. Then he saw the barbed-wire fences, with a series of holes ripped in the mesh. Hovering in the ashy sky was his old babysitter Alecto, directing his dad's guard ghoulies as they repaired the torn fences and erected reinforcements on the border of Asphodel and Punishment.

'Back again?'

Nico nearly leapt the wire fence at the sound of his father's rich, mournful baritone. In his shimmering cloak of damned souls, Hades cut an imposing figure across the plains of the Underworld. Nico cringed. Would he ever be able to feel fully comfortable in his father's presence?

Hades surveyed him intently, making Nico's insides squirm. 'I thought you were spending the year at Camp Half-Blood? Wasn't that what my upstart nephew—'

'Percy?'

'Yes, him—didn't he buy you a place with the other demigods?'

Nico studied his hands. 'I have a cabin, but …' The skull ring on his finger was just like the one on his cabin door, the one that scared the other campers away.

'Don't tell me I should have blasted the boy from the start.'

'No! I mean, it's not Percy's fault. I just—I'm too different. I don't fit in at camp.'

'You're not happy.' Hades twisted his own ring, an ornate black gem that took up half his finger.

Nico, about to do the same, forced himself to drop his hands. It was disconcerting to find that he and his father had the same nervous habit.

Hades grimaced. 'My children always—'

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a commotion at the edge of the Fields of Punishment. One of the prisoners was attempting to climb the barbed-wire fence. His bright orange jumpsuit stood out sharply against the dreary landscape. Alecto swooped down and dug her claws into his shoulder, lifting him off the fence and depositing him at the foot of a hill, next to his massive boulder.

'Curse you!' Sisyphus screeched. 'I'll get away eventually!'

Hades's robes billowed. One of the wailing faces swimming in the fabric made a break for it. It started to materialise, emerging from the cloth like that eerie face in _The Scream,_ until Hades grabbed it by the neck and shook his fist hard. The damned soul vaporised in a curl of smoke.

Hades dusted off his hands and turned back to Nico. 'I would offer you tea and sympathy, but as you can see, I have some serious problems to deal with.'

'It's fine,' Nico muttered. He hadn't really expected his dad to comfort him. He wasn't even sure why he'd come down here. 'What's going on?'

'Thanatos is AWOL again. I swear, that useless daemon has _one job._ And of course those Strix-brained guards in Punishment are terrible gossips. Alecto!' he shouted to the hovering Fury. 'I want that wall fixed ASAP! And where's Tisiphone and Megaera?'

'I'll just go,' Nico said. He had just turned towards the path leading to the palace when his father laid an icy hand on his shoulder.

'Wait. I have a proposition for you.' Hades smoothed his robes and fiddled with his gemstone ring again. Whatever this proposition was, it clearly didn't make him comfortable. Nico had a bad feeling about it already.

'If you are truly miserable at Camp Half-Blood, maybe there is another option.'

'Another option,' Nico echoed. 'Like Bianca had another option?'

Hades's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his daughter. 'A _mortal_ option. On the other side of the kingdom—er, country, I mean—is another camp.'

'Another camp? But Percy said Camp Half-Blood was the only place for demigods!'

He thought his father might have rolled his eyes when he mentioned Percy, but it was hard to tell when one had flames for eyes. 'It is the best-kept secret among the gods. I shouldn't even tell you this. You would be the first demigod in centuries to learn of the other group's existence.'

'What's wrong with them?'

'Nothing. They are simply … different.'

Hades's form shimmered. His appearance shifted, taking on subtle changes here and there. His flowing robes straightened into an expensive, tailored suit ten times more elegant than the ones Charon favoured; his black gemstone ring became one of solid gold; his hair shortened into a sleek, side-parted wave.

In this form, he looked like a successful financial mogul—rich and cruelly cutthroat.

He held this new appearance for barely ten seconds before shifting back to his usual form. In the brief transition, more damned souls tried to flee his robes. Hades snuffed them quickly.

'My … _other._ ' He wrinkled his nose. 'The Romans worshipped me as Pluto. Lord of the Dead, but also of wealth and riches.'

'You want me to go to … a Roman camp,' Nico guessed.

'Camp Jupiter,' Hades said. 'You will have to introduce yourself as the son of Pluto. Under no circumstances can you ever mention Camp Half-Blood, or reveal yourself as a Greek demigod. The consequences would be … perilous, to say the least.'

Nico ground his teeth. Go find a dangerous new demigod camp. Pretend to be something he wasn't. Guard his secret at all costs. Sure, why not? It wasn't like he'd never done something like _that_ before.

'This could be a risky endeavour. Children from the two groups have not mixed for centuries.' Hades stroked his chin. Despite his admonitions, he seemed to be warming to the idea. 'Who knows. Perhaps it will serve me well to have you there.'

A bitter taste flooded Nico's mouth. For a second, he'd almost allowed himself to believe that his father did care about him, had suggested Camp Jupiter for his benefit. But of course, there was a hidden agenda. There always was.

'Alecto can provide you with the right documents. It will gain you respect among the Romans, if not acceptance. That I'm afraid you must always earn for yourself.'

'Why should Rome be any different?' Nico said bitterly.

'New Rome,' Hades corrected. He surveyed Nico intently. He started to say something else, but another soul of the damned tried to make a break for it. Hades cursed and yanked it back. 'That's _it!_ I've had it up to the Styx with these leaks!'

He whirled around, his damned cloak billowing out behind him. A second later, he was striding back towards the fence surrounding Punishment. Nico had been dismissed.

As Nico wandered aimlessly across Asphodel, he felt a strong kinship with the mindless souls that populated the massive field. The spirits were as blank and empty as always, chittering unintelligibly to themselves. If he listened carefully, Nico could sometimes understand them, but he wasn't in the mood today.

The remaining Furies, Tisiphone and Megaera, swooped overhead, chasing a couple of of escapees from Punishment who were tearing towards the Styx like it was the safe house in tag. None of the inhabitants of Asphodel seemed to care about the Underworld leak. Maybe they wouldn't even care to return, given the chance. Did they even retain enough cognisance of their previous lives?

At the gates of Erebus, the judgement pavilion was uncharacteristically empty. Beyond it, the triple-laned entrance was as deserted as the Washington Turnpike on a Federal holiday. No one was arriving in the Underworld.

The implication hit Nico like Sisyphus's boulder.

 _Thanatos is AWOL._

If the god of death was missing …

Nico turned abruptly and sprinted through the packed fields. The mindless spirits scattered as he barrelled through them, too urgent to wait for them to drift aside the way they usually did. He knocked one of them straight into a poplar tree—a black girl with a cloud of curly hair and strangely clear eyes—but he didn't stop to apologise. It was like a magnetic force was pulling him towards the one bright patch of colour that existed in the Underworld.

Maybe this was why he had been drawn down here all along.

Nico didn't stop running until he arrived, panting, at the gates of Elysium. They were barred as usual, denying entry to all but those select, heroic souls who had passed judgement. The pair of security ghouls on duty scowled at Nico as he ran up. Their scythes made a menacing 'X' in front of them.

'We're on lockdown,' said one guard. 'Elysian applications are suspended. No new admittances until further notices.'

'I'm not going to stay, I just need to—'

A sneer cut across the other guard's face. 'You can scram, then.'

Nico squared his shoulders. 'I'm the son of Hades,' he growled. 'And I _need_ to see my sister. Now.'

The guards looked nervously at each other. Their haughty expression faded into uncertainty as they took in his skull ring and the Stygian iron sword hanging from his belt. 'Son of Hades,' the first ghoul murmured.

The other tugged on the starched black collar of his uniform. 'Rules are rules,' he said, his tone more apologetic now. 'No access to Elysium for non-residents. If you try to enter without a judgement pass, you'll go straight to Punishment. Even if you're, uh,' his eyes raked over Nico, 'not dead yet.'

Nico ground his teeth, but there wasn't much he could do. Trying to force his way through would just land him with a black mark on his judgement record. That would come back to haunt him later, he knew it. If there were any perks to being a child of Hades, safe postmortem passage through the judgement pavilion certainly wasn't one of them.

If he couldn't get into Elysium to find her … well, there was another way. He'd promised Bianca he wouldn't try it again, but this was different. He wasn't summoning her spirit back to the mortal world. She wouldn't _be_ a spirit this time.

Nico skirted the perimeter of the gated community until he came up to the edge of his father's palace grounds, where Persephone's gardens flowered. Luscious pomegranates dripped off the trees, inviting him to take a bite. Nico knew better than to eat here, but plucked a handful of ripe fruit. They weren't for him.

He set up near the banks of the River Lethe, which ran along the back edge of Elysium. The soil here was softer, easier for him to dig the pit he needed.

The ritual was familiar. He'd performed it so many times, he could probably do it in his sleep by now. He'd even learnt to control the spirits that crowded hungrily around his offering, greedy for their voices to be heard.

'Bianca,' he murmured. It gave him a sense of déjà-vu, calling for her like this. How many times had he held this séance, desperate for her to respond? 'Bianca, come!'

He waited, feeling the dark power flowing through his Stygian blade. It trembled in his hands.

There was no response. Just like all those times he had sought her before Percy had finally compelled her to appear, there was only the eager crowding of the other spirits, the ones he didn't care for. Some of them drifted benignly over from the back door of Elysium, curious to see what was going on, but they weren't interested in hanging around. These spirits quickly returned to the line that formed from the Lethe, waiting their turn to drink. They were the souls who had chosen rebirth, to head back for a second chance in the mortal world. Either they were oblivious to the fact that they now had a chance to slip back into their previous lives, or they simply didn't care to.

Nico looked at his shallow pit and the pomegranates sitting in it. His insides gave a guilty twist. He shouldn't really be doing this.

What if Bianca didn't _want_ to come back?

Then a bright spirit swirled forth. The other presences drew back almost respectfully. Nico hesitated. He was almost certain this wasn't Bianca, but something about its aura was acutely familiar. It was like Bianca's, like his own.

He let it pass.

The spirit paused as though given a nod of acknowledgement, then descended over the pomegranates. They disappeared as the spirit glowed, taking shape. Only a handful of seeds remained.

The woman who materialised was tall, stocky, and dressed in medieval armour. A translucent banner fluttered behind her, emblazoned with a lance speared through a pomegranate. The visor of her pointed helmet was raised to reveal eyes that were like flames dancing in her ghostly face.

Nico had never seen her before. Nevertheless, the intensity of her gaze was familiar to him. It spoke of power, of justice … and of death.

Bianca's eyes had flashed like that when she got mad. He was fairly certain _he'd_ had the same look when he'd been searching, half-crazed, for someone to blame for her death.

They were his father's eyes, set in the face of this stranger, who maybe wasn't a stranger.

'Do I know you?'

'You came in search of your sister,' she said. Her accent was European, like his mother's, but with a French lilt instead of Italian.

'Yes—Bianca. But who are you?'

'Call me Marguerite.'

'Er.' Nico twisted his ring. 'And you are …?'

'A sister of yours, too,' Marguerite said.

'When did you …'

'Die?' Marguerite's lips twisted wryly. 'Many centuries ago. I was killed on the battlefields of Burgundy. I led an army of women against the men who had violated us. They called us the spirits of vengeance.' She let her visor fall for a second, and Nico could see how she must have looked in life: a terrible avenging angel radiating death over her enemies. She reminded him of Percy, fighting off Hades's army single-handedly with the glow of the Styx shining around him. Then she raised the visor and winked at him. 'We understand well how to bear a grudge, little brother.'

'Bianca said that's our fatal flaw.'

Marguerite nodded grimly. 'I told her as much. I sacrificed my life to carry out my vengeance. Perhaps it was worth it in my case, but for many of our siblings …' She sighed. 'Not many of us make it to Elysium. Children of Hades are rare enough as it is. Add to this a penchant for taking grudges too far … Why, in the last century alone, there was Adolf … and Benito …'

'Benito,' Nico repeated. 'You mean … Benito Mussolini?' It was surreal to think about the dictator who had cast a shadowy cloud over Nico's childhood in terms of their shared parentage.

Then something else Marguerite said sank in. 'You told Bianca? In Elysium? Can you contact her? I need to speak to her!'

Marguerite's eyes turned sympathetic. 'You're too late, little brother.'

'What do you mean, _too late?_ She's in Elysium! If you can come out, so can she.'

Marguerite inclined her head towards the line of souls drinking from the Lethe. Nico's heart plummeted to the bottom of his séance pit.

'She—' His voice broke. His eyes burned with the effort of holding back tears.

'She wanted another chance at life.'

'But she didn't have to—I could have—' The words stuck in his throat.

 _You're too late._ The knowledge curled like icy fingers around his insides. If only Bianca had waited. If only she hadn't rushed off on another great adventure.

Instead, she'd left him behind. _Again._

Nico knew he wasn't being fair. Bianca couldn't have guessed that the Underworld would spring a leak. She'd chosen to get a second chance at life in the only way available to her. She _deserved_ to have that chance. Still, he wanted to rage and scream and stab his sword into the ring of pomegranate seeds in the pit.

Marguerite seemed to guess what he was thinking. 'Would you deny her the chance to live a life the way she desires?' There was an edge of steel to her voice now, like she was ready to defend Bianca's right to choose. Like she was protecting Bianca. Looking out for her the way Bianca had always looked out for _him._

Nico stared at his fingers. His skull ring stared back through a watery blur. 'I'll never see her again.'

Marguerite's voice softened. 'You need to stop looking back, little brother. Bianca wanted you to move on. You know that. She wanted you to live your own life, too.'

Nico squeezed his eyes shut. The outline of his sister imprinted itself against his eyelids, along with the whisper of her last words to him: _Goodbye, Nico. I love you._ He held that image in his head for one long second, then released it.

'Thank you for telling me,' he said woodenly.

He turned to leave. To his surprise, Marguerite said, 'Wait.'

She glided back into the séance pit, hovering over the pomegranate seeds lying in the dirt. 'Take them,' she said.

'The seeds?'

'You may have need of them in the future.'

He reached into the pit and picked them up. The seeds were dry and hard against his palm.

'Why would I need seeds?' He wondered if she meant for him to plant a tree for Bianca.

'They were a peace offering from our stepmother. For the children of Hades, these are the seeds of life. They will keep you alive if you ever require emergency sustenance.'

'You think … I'm going to need them soon?'

'Children of Hades lead dangerous lives. It is always better to be prepared.'

Nico's fingers closed around the seeds. He couldn't deny that having a last-resort safeguard would be useful. Nonetheless, a frisson of foreboding shivered through him. 'Thanks. I guess.'

Marguerite inclined her head. 'Children of Hades are few and far between. We must look out for one another where we can.'

She pulled down the visor of her helmet. He had a glimpse of her full, retaliatory glory before she vanished. Her black pomegranate banner fluttered over the pit for a second before disappearing, too.

Nico sat on the bank of the Lethe for a while, fingering the pomegranate seeds and watching the queue of Elysian spirits dwindle as each one drank from the river of forgetfulness and melted into their new life. When he finally got up to leave, his insides were still hollow.

He crossed Asphodel at a slow trudge this time, in no hurry to return to the mortal world. The mindless drone of the spirits washed over him, a mournful soundtrack to his stolen hope and bleak prospects. What would he do when he got back? Return to Camp Half-Blood, where the campers tiptoed around him? Try his luck with this other camp Hades had mentioned? He'd still be alone, carrying more secrets that he could never share.

In the middle of this contemplation, he realised that the voices of the spirits had grown muted, like someone had turned down the volume. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more like he'd crossed some invisible barrier into a peaceful grove, where a young girl sat with her back against a black poplar tree, twisting a lock of curly, cinnamon-brown hair in her fingers. The other spirits kept a respectful distance from her, the way they automatically made room for him, recognising his authority as a child of the Underworld.

She was the same girl he'd knocked aside before on his mad dash through the fields. The one spirit that hadn't even attempted to dart out of his way. He'd thought she just hadn't moved quickly enough, but he saw now that she simply hadn't been repelled by his presence like the others.

Although the girl didn't say anything, only stared, he knew saw him. With her cloud of curly hair framing a face as dark as the trunk of the poplar, she looked nothing like him or Bianca, or even Marguerite. Yet he felt that same aura radiating from her. This girl knew what it was like to carry death with her.

He looked straight into her wide, gold-flecked eyes, so clear and lucid, unlike the blank stares of her fellow Asphodelians. A train of images flashed between them: a five-year-old tracing out the letters of her name— _HAZEL LEVESQUE_ —in finger paint; the girl at seven, holding a perfect, glittering diamond in her palm; at nine, hiding behind a devastatingly beautiful woman in a gypsy dress as a one-armed man shook his fist angrily at them; thirteen and brimming with rage as she faced a tall, pale man in an immaculate grey suit that shimmered with the faces of the damned.

His father's suit. No, not his father, exactly. The _other_ —the version of himself that Hades had shown briefly to Nico. Lord of the Dead, but also of wealth and riches.

'You're different,' Nico said. 'A child of Pluto. You remember your past.'

The girl—Hazel—lifted her chin. 'Yes,' she said. Her eyes narrowed, and Nico wondered if she could see his past, the way he had seen hers. 'And you're alive.'

He didn't dispute the point. Hazel was obviously dead. He could see her death playing out now: drowned in an icy sea, dragged under the waves as she brought down a cavern upon herself … and a growing, slumbering giant.

 _Alcyoneus,_ a voice whispered in his ear. _She gave her life to stop the giant's return._

She was a hero, then. She'd died so young—barely older than Bianca. Younger than he was now.

Hazel was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

'I'm Nico di Angelo,' he said. 'I—I came looking for my sister. Death has gone missing, so I thought …' He twisted his ring around his finger. 'I thought I could bring her back and no one would notice.'

'Back to life? Is that possible?'

'It should have been. But …' He swallowed hard. 'She's gone. She—she chose to be reborn into a new life. I'm too late.' His voice cracked on the last word.

'I'm sorry.' Hazel was nothing like Bianca: dark-skinned, stocky, a southern accent. Yet the kindness in her voice was exactly the same. It embraced him like a hug from Bianca herself.

No, she wasn't Bianca. But she was his sister, too. And she didn't deserve to languish in Asphodel for all eternity.

 _Children of Hades are few and far between. We must look out for one another where we can._

Nico's hand stretched out to meet Hazel's.

'You're my sister, too,' he said.

Hazel's fingers closed slowly around his. Her eyes widened when they solidified against his touch.

Bianca had always looked after him. Marguerite had looked out of her. Now it was his turn. He couldn't offer Bianca a second chance, but Hazel … he could be the big brother now. They could go to Camp Jupiter, introduce themselves as children of Pluto like his father had suggested.

And whatever happened there … well, he would have _someone_ who understood the secrets they had to keep.

'You deserve another chance,' he said. 'Come with me.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

 **A/N** : Okay, so I know this isn't in _perfect_ continuity with canon as described in BoO … But let's just pretend Hades shows up again when Nico gets to the doors of Camp Jupiter and has that little scene from Nico's memories in BoO then, okay? :)

OC note—Marguerite de Bressieux is a 15th century character in French legend who is basically described as the 'Black Knight who hunted rapists.' I thought she was perfect for a daughter of Hades, especially since in that story, the army of women she led was described as looking like 'ghosts from hell to exact revenge on the living.' Her banner is supposed to be an orange, but I've modified it to fit Nico's perspective here. I originally researched Marguerite to use for another WIP ( **Hello** , that's the one you put in a vote for, only I'm struggling with it at the moment, so at least there's a bit of the end game for that fic in this one!), but the end game of that (unwritten) fic sort of connects with this one, so here she is! And since I'm talking about her, if you want to read about some kickass lesser-known female characters in history and legend, go check out _Rejected Princesses_. I had loads of fun looking through it and thinking about what godly parents those ladies might have had.


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